


Unbreakable

by evrwlfksd



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evrwlfksd/pseuds/evrwlfksd
Summary: “So Eivor, what say you. Will you follow me to England?”Lean on me, I will lead you home.“From here to Valhalla, I will always be on your side, Sigurd. Always.”This will largely follow the game, with added subtext and interpretations.
Relationships: Eivor & Sigurd Styrbjornson, Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first draft and very self-indulgent as I'm mostly writing this for myself, so beware.  
> Most of the actual dialogue is taken from the game and I do not claim ownership.

“Eivor!” When he saw the woman, Sigurd couldn’t be held back anymore. He’d been away for two winters, rarely giving himself the chance to think of home, or her. But seeing her again, standing tall, finally truly grown into her armour… It filled him with a sense of pride and made him realise how much he’d missed her.

  
“Ah, look at you, blood-soaked drengr.” He didn’t take his eyes of her. She’d shaved the side of her head and by the looks of it Svend had tattooed her. She looked fearsome. Unlike with his wife, ever the strategist, he recognised a true vikingr heart in her. Just like his own.

  
“I smell the stink of a dozen kingdoms in your beard,” Eivor breathed when he hugged her. He grinned to himself. He hadn’t washed in weeks. Eivor had never minded.

  
“It’s just the start,” He held her face and smiled as he made a promise to himself. He would never refuse her again if she asked to join him on his raiding. From now on, they’d be together, always.

***

Eivor could swear Sigurd had grown even taller on his journey South. A hint of the pain she’d felt the past two years shot through her. How much had she missed when he was away? The wound he’d left when he refused to take her with him had closed, slowly but surely, yet at the sight of him it felt like it was being ripped open again. He pulled her in and she closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of dirt and dried blood mixed with something that was so undeniably Sigurd. This man… Was he truly unaware of the hurt he had caused her?

  
He pulled back from their embrace, but kept her close, as if he understood her desire to not put distance between them again. There was something in his look that she couldn’t quite place. He seemed pleased to see her, nonetheless. At least there was that.

***


	2. Chapter 2

“Through Rusland we sailed…” 

Eivor didn’t hear much Sigurd’s tales. Instead, she was fixated on her mug of ale, through which she tried to numb the nagging pain that had resurfaced once again. She had become quite able to drink most of the men in the clan under the table these past two years.

Tonight however, she was drinking alone, for all others clung to Sigurd’s tales as if it would allow them to share in his glory. She let out a soft chuckle. Even those who fought with him weren’t able to share in his glory. Sigurd on the battlefield was a sight to behold. A giant, towering above all others both in posture and might, wielding his longsword as if the weight of it did not burden him. He fought with a blood lust that pleased the Gods.

Valhalla was made for warriors like him. And Sigurd knew this well. He revelled in the way the clan listened to his every word, spurred him on for more tales. He was the kind of man that needed this, longed for it even, whether he realised it or not. If Styrbjorn had indulged him more, he might not have needed to leave the clan on his hunt for glory. He might not have needed to leave her.

Next to him, Randvi was playing the role of dutiful wife. Eivor wondered how long she would be able to keep this up. Randvi had not been looking forward to Sigurd’s return. Though she was a respectable woman and made a good match for him, she did not see him for who he was. At times, Eivor couldn’t help but resent her for that. In another life…

Eivor took another drink to drown her useless thoughts. The Nornir had spun her fate. This was the only life she had. 

“Skal!” Cups were raised in Sigurd’s honour. She looked up to see him searching for her attention.

“And you, Eivor,” His voice broke through, “Come, I have something special for you.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops another short update, the next one will probably be longer


	3. Chapter 3

“I thought long and hard on a gift worthy of you,”

Sigurd wore his pride like a crown. Through his deeds, the Raven clan would soar. He’d acquired enough wealth to raise an entire army against Kjotve and he would finally drive back the man who had made such a bold statement of Eivor’s family after all these years. He would do what his father would not. He would lead the clan to its true destiny, as he was born to do.

Ever since he was young, Sigurd had longed for something greater. For two winters this longing had pulled him further and further East. Yet some days, when he did not guard his thoughts as carefully, it had felt like he was fleeing. A strange shame had tinted thoughts of home like a curse. An aftertaste so foul no amount of mead could wash it away, until the only solution was to stop thinking of home altogether.

And so Sigurd banished all thoughts of snow-topped mountains and strong spiced ale. Forbade himself to think of Eivor and the look of defeat on her face when he had denied her request to join him. He was not used to denying her and if there were any suspicions that it was this strange feeling in his gut that had poisoned his memories of home, he had silenced them as well. His mind had quieted and he had let his hunger for more lead him. He had seen the beauty of the world, tasted the salted air of adventure. He had conquered. 

It was not until he’d met Hytham and Basim that Eivor had rejoined him in his thoughts. Whether it was because they were always together, fighting side by side, or because of some other reason, she took center place in every tale he told. He was overcome with a hard longing to return home at once, to show her that his denial did not mean he did not see her worth. 

He would give her a gift. Something as special and rare as her. Eivor had never cared for jewels or gems, nor did he find they suited her. He wanted to find a gift that matched both the bravery of her heart and the beauty of her features. When Basim had shown him the Hidden Blade, he had known instantly. This was it. A fine weapon for the finest warrior he knew. 

“First, let us drink,” Sigurd offered Eivor a mug. The drink burned his throat and he coughed, watching as Eivor downed hers completely. He grinned, suddenly wishing he could have shown her Rome, to see what she made of their wine.

"You are stuck with me, drengr," He would never leave her again.

“It’s good to have you back, Sigurd,” The softness in her voice proved he had earned her forgiveness.

“Yes,” he responded honestly, “I have missed this terribly.”   
It was the first time in many months he spoke those words out loud, but he had carried the truth of them with him ever since he left.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I see it at this point in the game, Eivor is for sure obsessed with Sigurd. She would literally follow him to the end of the world, he can do no wrong. Meanwhile, he sees and treats her like he treats no one else, always favouring and indulging her. I don't think either of them thinks further on this or knows what they're actually feeling though, Sigurd least of all.


	4. Chapter 4

When she was younger, Eivor had thought Sigurd was cold-hearted. He had once taken a stone from her cairn and tossed it in the river and she had cried to her father like a small babe. Varin had berated Sigurd, yet the boy had acted as if he did not care. She thought someone like him, with a heart made of ice, could never be hurt. 

And so Eivor had not cried after Kjotve killed her father and mother. One day, she would avenge their deaths by facing him on the battlefield. Until then, their war would be fought within herself and she refused to let him gain any footing, even there. She hardened her heart, buried her hurt underneath its ice, until she no longer felt its presence at all.

Some days, she thinks that without Sigurd, it would have stayed that way forever.

***

_“Eivor, I had hoped to find you here,” She did not look back when Sigurd spoke, focusing instead on the cairn. She did not want the stones to fall._

_“I overheard my father talking to others, he said you were his child now.”_   
_Her hands trembled. She did not want to be Styrbjorn’s child, his claim a threat to the memory of her father. She placed another stone, carefully,_

_“You are welcome in this family. We will grow together, feast together and scamper over the snows together,” Sigurd continued, “I hope that pleases you. It pleases me.”_

_She turned to face him. He was being kind. She had not expected that._

_“What is it you are building now? Two homes? Or… a hill and a mountain?” The boy even took interest in the cairn, approaching with care, this time._   
_She hesitated for a moment, she had promised herself she would not speak of this. But Sigurd had been there. Had saved her even. Maybe this was okay._

_“This is my father,” She explained, “And this is Kjotve the Cruel and-”_

_She couldn’t speak of it more. Sigurd’s eyes on her were too kind, too caring. They awakened something within her that she had desperately tried to lock away, something that clawed its way out and grew as it did so, like an avalanche hurling down a mountain. For the first time since her parents had died, she let out a small cry as she finally felt the true extent of pain the event had caused her. In the safety of Sigurd’s presence, tears streamed down her cheeks until she was crying so hard she could barely breath._

_In one night, she had lost everything. Eivor Wolf-Kissed, they called her since. That night, Eivor Varinsdottir had died._

_“Here,” Sigurd extended his arm, supporting her. She cried in his embrace, hiding her face in his neck so the world would not see her being weak. He smelled of sweet mead and leather, a scent she recognised from when he had pulled her up on his horse and lead her to safety that night. Later she would find herself craving that scent wherever she went, but for now, it was a welcome distraction. Sigurd held her, let her cry until her body stopped shaking and she took deep breaths once more._

_“Lean on me,” He said, “I will lead you home.”_

***

Ever since that night, Eivor’s eyes had opened. Sigurd’s heart was not cold.

He did not speak of love. He showed it.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, dialogue is taken from the game (one of the memories you hear when playing the stones mini game) and I don't own it.  
> I'm obsessed with these parallels, Sigurd saying he'll lead her home and Eivor saying she'll be by his side from here until Valhalla, as if as long as she's with him, she's on the right path.


	5. Chapter 5

***

  
“You must be his better half,” King Styrbjorn had said when they’d left. He saw his son as impulsive and unwise, thought Sigurd hunted glory and influence like a man starved of both. He did not see her as she did. Eivor knew Sigurd’s heart. 

The journey to England, though removing them further from their native land with every day, felt more like home than she had experienced in many moons. They had talked at length and the wound in her soul was mending once more. Yet her heart still betrayed her, yearning for a moment truly alone with him. She thought back on the days where they would go hunting together, sleeping together in their small tent, sharing stories until one of them fell asleep (Sigurd, always) to distract themselves from the cold. How she’d watch him while he was asleep and wish the morning would not come so quickly. 

She did not speak of this to him, nor did she tell him how she missed him and how it had ached. Since his wedding to Randvi, Eivor had learned to be content with what she got. She did not mean to stand in the way of his happiness. Yet some days, she wondered, if maybe he missed her too. Days where he insisted she’d be the one to sail to England with him, rather than his wife. Where he brushed a strand of hair out of her face with his slender fingers that lingered longer than they needed to. She leaned in to his touch without even meaning to. To indulge her hunger for him was to be consumed. 

Sigurd seemed happy and at peace, eager to fulfil his purpose and to lead the clan to a new and better life. And more than that, they once again spoke like one mind, as if they knew each other as intimately as themselves. She was glad to find the two winters apart had not changed them. The thought had frightened her. It seemed even in her dreams she sought reassurance that he was her Sigurd still. Sigurd who did not take his eyes off her. Whose battle-worn hands were rough upon her face. Sigurd who smelled like leather, mead and sweat. How had she survived without?

Even when getting to their new settlement, they needed but one look at each other to decide what they would do with the captives they’d found. Dag had looked between them, not grasping the meaning of the unspoken words they had exchanged and Eivor had smiled to herself. This was the way things should always be. The way they always had been.

***


	6. Chapter 6

***

  
“You should judge,” Randvi pushed her. Eivor still hesitated. It was not her place, nor did she want to take what was rightfully Sigurd’s.  
“It’s a jarl’s burden. This is Sigurd’s duty now.” 

  
Randvi was trying, Eivor knew that. She merely wanted a reliable jarl for the clan and even Eivor had to admit Sigurd couldn’t be that right now. More often than not, it was Randvi who held things together. But to go against him was to betray him and she could not bring herself to do so. Her loyalty to the clan was great, but her loyalty to Sigurd was all-compassing. 

  
“Only once more, until Sigurd regains his strength,” Randvi tried. Ah, her weak spot. The one thing she knew Eivor would not refuse.   
It wasn’t that she minded the judgement itself. Nor had she minded leading the clan in Sigurd’s absence. The clan was her own, and Eivor defended her own. Always. But Sigurd needed to be jarl like one needs water. She did not.

  
The judgement in itself was simple enough. Holger had once again taken something he should not have, and her decision was a simple one. Compensation was needed. She would speak her judgement and be done with this. 

  
“What is this?” His voice cut like an axe. “This duty is mine alone, Eivor. You know this.”

This was not the first time he had spoken in such anger since he’d returned from Fulke. Before, there had been frustration, anger, rage even, but never this, never towards her. She had always shared in his glory and he had let her, indulged her, with a generosity no other was granted by him. He had let her take the lead, never felt threatened by her, their mutual trust so fundamental it was something she had almost taken for granted until it showed its first crack…  
  
_"From here to Valhalla, I will always be on your side._ "  
She had meant it. If only he could believe it still.

In the end, that’s what hurt the most.

***

_Sigurd,_

_I know you wish for me to leave you be and so I shall.  
_ _Sleep has come scarcely since you have returned. For you, it must be worse._  
 _Know that none wished for your safe return more than me._

_Eivor_

  
She crumpled the note, threw it where the others lay. There was nothing she could say to him that their life together had not already proven. If he did not know it, there was no point in disrespecting his wish to be left alone.

After he had returned, she’d spoken to him, near Dag’s grave. She had tried desperately to understand him, but found she could not. Sigurd seemed to be lost within himself and he refused to let her search.

  
“You are where you are loved and cherished now,” She had spoken from her heart, laid it open for him to see.  
“You are kind,” His smile had been genuine and for a moment she had seen his old self shine through, as if he understood her love still. Hope had struck her like lightning, set her blood ablaze.

  
The moment had left as soon as it came. 

***

  
She worried for him. Worried he might offend the Gods and face their wrath. She did not know how to help him. When returning from a raid she sometimes saw him sitting at the docks, his legs dangling over the water, or leaning against the barracks, inspecting the crew. He had grown quiet, introspective. Unlike himself. The old Sigurd would have been training with the others, showing them how to dodge the swing of his longsword or to form a shield wall. He would have raised others up, instead of fearing they’d drag him down. 

  
“Your presence will heal him better than any herb could,” Ubba had said to her. She had repeated the sentiment many times since, but found herself doubting there was still any truth to it. Her presence seemed to unnerve him, disturb him. 

Perhaps it would be better if she did not seek him out any longer.

***

Sigurd observed the newest additions to the crew. Listening in to their chatter, he tried to dissect their loyalty to him. Was it true? Would they follow him? Or did they merely join after hearing tales of Eivor, seeking to share in her glory. 

Basim was right. He had been too soft. Had let others walk over him. His father, who had always refused to show gratitude for the riches he had brought him. His wife, her blatant disrespect for his leadership, her disregard for their marriage. She had openly pursued Eivor… And it was Eivor who he feared most, as fervently as he had loved her.   
  
_"She will betray you”_  
He scoffed.

How could she not.

***


End file.
